


#Telegram221b

by TeaHouseMoon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Had to be done, M/M, Mark's tweet, Rimming, Victorian Rimming, but there's rimming, it's very short, moustache rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My Dear Watson.</p><p>Please don't ever. Stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#Telegram221b

**Author's Note:**

> Mark tweeted this today: https://twitter.com/Markgatiss/status/677148201514901504
> 
> I saw an opportunity and I took it. :) 
> 
> (There's only one way that can be read, Mark, sorry!)

Sherlock breathed, slowly, deeply, rhythmically in and out. As he lay supine on the bed, his chest expanded with every breath and his back arched; his hands gripped the bed sheets, fingers strangled the fabric when he tried to find purchase, an anchor against the onslaught of sensation. He moaned every now and then between breaths, weak helpless sounds, practically whimpers.

  
"Oh, John. John..."

  
His eyes were closed, and he bit his lower lip; his chest jerked upward once again. It made his nipples stand out, small and tight and dusky against his fair skin.

  
"John..."

  
He could not see him from where he was, moving under the cover, between his legs. He could only see the outline of the back of his head, perhaps, the rest of his body as he knelt in the alcove between his thighs - but Sherlock did not want to look. He closed his eyes again, tight. Sensation was enough, it was so much already - he didn't need the visual stimulation too.

  
"Mmmmhh..."

John's moustache was rubbing against him in a steady undulation - left, to right, back, and forth. Caressing the tender insides of his thighs, the juncture between legs and pelvis, every time John moved his face, pushed in some more. Sometimes he kissed, gently, lips against Sherlock like when he kissed him on the mouth, and then John's moustache only tickled and scraped a bit.  
Sometimes he opened his mouth and used his tongue, long, deep sweeps over the outside and then inside - and then the moustache stung deliciously, made Sherlock want to pull away and at the same time open his legs more, open himself, let John's tongue touch him as deeply as it could.

In the beginning John had had to hold down his ankles, make sure to keep Sherlock's legs wide apart; now, he didn't need to. Sherlock wanted it, welcomed it - worked with him with his whole body, open and trusting and loose.

  
"Oh John...Don't stop..."

  
He heard John chuckle, a deep clipped sound that was more like a growl. He was aroused by giving him this, just as much as Sherlock was at receiving it.  
  
"Are you going to put this on a telegram, too?" John asked, as he pulled the cover back from his head, looked up at him and smirked. His left hand slid up to stroke along Sherlock's cock, push it firmly against his flat abdomen where it'd been resting; "Ah," Sherlock couldn't help but moan.  
  
John bit gently at one of his testicles. Sherlock watched, regretted watching, because he felt his orgasm so near and he wanted more. More mouth, more lips, more tongue - more bites, more touches, and the raw, wonderful sting of coarse hair against his reddened skin.  
  
"Yes," he tried to chuckle as well. "My dear - Watson, " a breath. "Please don't stop. Please - don't ever. Stop."  
  
John wrapped his hands under Sherlock's backside, his biceps under each thigh, and pulled Sherlock to himself, resumed kissing, biting, rubbing against his most intimate place - then stroked with his tongue, pushed inside him so deeply, deeper, deeper again. Was just barely able to hold onto Sherlock's hips as they spasmed, when Sherlock came  - open mouth and closed eyes and arched back, and heart pounding in his chest.  
  



End file.
